


The Christmas in Atlantis omnibus

by Domenika Marzione (domarzione)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Atlantis command is sometimes part of the problem, Atlantis command should probably have seen this one coming, Christmas, Gen, Holidays, christmas decorations are not the moment for tastefulness, the craziness increases the further you are from your home galaxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domarzione/pseuds/Domenika%20Marzione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas in Atlantis through the years. It started off well-intentioned, but then it got weird. No, scratch that, it was always weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A happy non-denominational voluntary holiday!

**Author's Note:**

> [Cast of Characters/the Big List of OCs (because there are more than seven people in Atlantis and they all have names)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/372765)

Lorne's first Christmas season in Atlantis was a little schizophrenic; it appeared and disappeared depending on where he was during the day.  
  
Off-world, of course, nobody had any inkling. It had been like that back in the Milky Way except for the occasional Tokra or someone else who had knowledge of the wacky Tau'ri holiday calendar. Suarez asked if wishing their hosts a Merry Christmas would be either a violation of OpSec or a major cultural gaffe, but Lorne assured him it was more likely to cause confusion than anything else.  
  
Inside the city, however, it was probably more dangerous to express holiday greetings. Most of Atlantis was almost belligerently secular; the public spaces were barely decorated except for some carefully-chosen non-denominational "cheer" in places like the commissary and the treatment suite of Medical. Ham had been briefly axed from the week's menu out of deference to the overlap between non-Christians and non-pig-eaters, but it was reinstated after Sheppard pointed out that not only was ham on the menu every week and nobody had complained yet, but also ham was one of the few items that Weapons Company's First Platoon (December's KP rotation) could prepare without the fire suppressant being activated and it would be a shame to deprive Atlantis of their best chance at a decent meal.  
  
According to Sheppard, the first year in Atlantis had been a little more friendly to the season -- cut off from Earth and recovering from their most recent brush with disaster, even the combative types had gone along with the celebrations and the Athosians had been genuinely curious. ("Probably relieved that we believed in _something_ ," Sheppard had mused.) Reconnecting with Earth had apparently meant a re-establishing of politically correct and culturally sensitive norms, so it was back to "Happy Holidays" for everyone, an almost-apologetic announcement that 25 December would be a voluntary non-working day, and a four-panel oaktag presentation on different traditions on a table in the commissary, complete with printed-out PowerPoint slides and including a diagram-aided instructional essay on when the solstices fell on Lantea. The adjacent table, groaning under the weight of candy canes, sprinkled with foil-wrapped chocolates (both Santas and shekels), and featuring the contestants in the First Annual Gingerbread House Competition, proved a greater draw.  
  
In contrast to the austerity of the general population, however, Little Tripoli was a riot of tinsel and lights, small decorated trees at almost every hallway intersection, competing nativity scenes, and cards and pictures along the walls of the most-traveled corridors. Lorne's office had not been spared by the marauding bands of garland-bearing leathernecks, but he'd put his foot down when it came to blinking lights or anything that made noise and the resulting compromise was surprisingly tasteful.  
  
The barracks, on the other hand, was where subdued good taste went to die.  
  
Essentially isolated from the civilians, the location of the barracks and recreational areas left the marines free to indulge their whims without fear of oppressing the non-Christian minorities. (Who, among the marines, either did their own thing right alongside the Rudolphs and Hallmark ornaments or just shut the hell up.) The result was a wonderland that was at once a testament to tackiness and the outrageous lengths consumerism went to for Christmas but also a spectacle that was impossible to not be cheered and heartened by. Even with the inflatable Grinch popping out of his chimney and matching inflatable snowglobes.   
  
The senior NCOs had made sure that everyone had _something_ from Earth under one of the trees or in the rows of stockings; there had been substantial civilian donations from home and most of it seemed to be on display when Lorne was taken on his tour with the rest of the officers. ("Sergeant, why is Dora the Explorer playing the Virgin Mary?" "It's the only other girl doll we hadn't given away yet, sir. Didn't seem right to put GI Joe in a dress.")   
  
The marines were endearingly proud of their Martha Stewart-by-way-of-Matisse-and-the-Joker work and eagerly accepted all praise and compliments -- and even constructive criticism where it was warranted ("You'll cover up that display of Mrs. Claus centerfolds before Doctor Weir shows up, right?" "Lieutenant Cadman didn't mind, sir." "Lieutenant Cadman is used to you perverts, Sergeant.").  
  
Lorne's second Christmas in Atlantis featured twelve days of alternately fending off and patiently enduring complaints regarding the corpsmen's decision to dress up and run around the city with a large bell and a yule log on a stretcher, shouting at the top of their lungs and clanging as they went. He'd settled the matter with Doctor Weir by explaining that they'd needed to get crazy medics to keep up with the crazy marines, but in return for not reining in the guerrilla merrymakers, Weir had made Lorne handle all of the complaints. (Actually, she'd simply referred them to Little Tripoli, but Sheppard was playing harder to find than usual, so the effect was the same.)  
  
On the other hand, Yoni in a Santa hat -- either protesting Medical's muted holiday celebrations allegedly curtailed out of sensitivity to his Jewishness or after having lost a bet with Clayton and Beckett, depending on who was telling the story -- pretty much made up for the irritation. Especially since Ortilla had taken pictures. ("He looks like the angriest elf ever, sir.")  
  
All in all, a far better way to spend the holidays than braving the airports and the malls.


	2. Work-related

Rodney had considered banning Christmas decorations from the start -- it was a waste of resources and (especially) energy, it would take people away from the work they had been transported at massive expense to perform, it was an affront to the triumph of science over superstition, and a half-dozen other very good reasons.  
  
But he lost that battle before a shot (or an email) was fired because Zelenka managed to construct a _project_ out of it for his Engineering section, turning the entire enterprise into a useful study of luminescence, energy transfer, and a dozen other basic concepts of Ancient tech that they did not have a masterful grasp on yet.  
  
"You do realize that you're violating the separation of church and state here," Rodney told him after seeing Simpson's small chain of peach-colored lights above her bench.  
  
"Survival is a universal hope," Radek replied with a shrug. "Feldman's building himself a menorah. If it works out, we'll be able to make flashlights without further depleting our pitiful supply of D batteries. "  
  
Radek turned out to be right. Nobody did complain -- not even Kavanagh, who still railed long and loud about the marines putting up decorations in the commissary and how Lieutenant Ford had told him to just deal with it when he'd tried to register an official protest. It ended up a very modest display -- the experimental nature of the project meant that a healthy portion of the ideas didn't work -- but even Rodney had to admit that Engineering was the nicest place to be in the Science Division. Botany had put up some pictures of poinsettias in their coffee room, but that was pretty much it as far as any displays of holiday spirit went. Which normally wouldn't have bothered anyone -- everyone in Science was of the sort of personality to resent having to take Christmas off from work -- but this year, cut off from home and left only with the Wraith and their meager allies, small chains of peach-colored lights were more welcome than they might otherwise have been.  
  
Which did not mean that Rodney did not gripe about Williams' display being an open invitation to epilepsy. He wouldn't want anyone thinking he'd gone soft.


	3. Exotic Botany 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cast of Characters/the Big List of OCs (because there are more than seven people in Atlantis and they all have names)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/372765)

"Hey, have you seen Reilly?" Biro asked.  
  
Jen looked up from where she was applying glitter glue to ganged-together tourniquets. "He went down to Little Tripoli to scam some supplies from the marines," she answered. "Why?"  
  
"I need someone tall to hang something for me," Biro explained, gesturing over her shoulder in the general direction of her lab. "And I can't find Mike."  
  
Abelard was on nights this week. "You could try Yoni -- I know he's around."  
  
"You're a mean one, Mister Grinch," Biro sang softly, as if that were an explanation.  
  
"He's got his own version of holiday cheer," Jen replied primly. "His space isn't the one that's not being decorated out of spite."  
  
That would be Yee, who had cited everything from the Little Red Book to the US Constitution as to why she was under no obligation to contribute to the unit holiday activities, be it allowing the marines and corpsmen to decorate outside of her lab or participating in the Secret Santa or, well, pretty much anything else. All she'd had to do was say 'no thanks', but instead there'd been a week of protests and continued put-upon expressions and Jen was really close to telling her to stow it in a very official capacity.  
  
Louise gave her a very skeptical look, but nodded and went away. Jen didn't hear anything else about it -- like, say, Biro crying -- and soon got distracted by Reilly returning with an armload of lights and three nutcracker soldiers (which was more or less what he'd been sent down to mooch) and a whole lot of other stuff that was not going up at all if Jen had any say in the matter. Which she probably didn't because the corpsmen were crazy and the marines would help them.  
  
She'd forgotten all about Biro's decorating until late in the afternoon, when there was an undignified male squeak and then a lot of laughing. Jen bolted out of her office, prepared to look stern at whoever was playing practical jokes... until she saw that the squeakee was Hospitalman Second Class Fletcher. And the laughers were pretty much everyone else.  
  
"That's dirty pool, ma'am," Fletcher accused, pointing up at the ceiling in the corner with the supply cabinets. Jen looked up to see a bunch of mistletoe, then down to where Lori Grebner was busy re-applying her lipstick. Which happened to match the marks on Fletcher's cheek.  
  
"Are you complaining about getting kissed by a girl, Petty Officer Fletcher?" Jen asked mildly.  
  
"The Navy's still all about rum, sodomy, and the lash," Reilly said, shaking his head in disappointment. "It's why the real men join the Marines."  
  
Fletcher was about to wipe away the lipstick with a paper towel, but stopped and glared at Reilly.  
  
After the show was over, Jen went to Yoni's lab, since while everyone had known that the mistletoe was Biro's, nobody seemed to realize who her accomplice had been.  
  
"Wouldn't have pegged you for that kind of mischief," she said as she entered.  
  
Yoni looked up at her with wary confusion. Like he might have done something, but wasn't sure if he was getting called out for it or if this was something else that was just falling to him by reputation. She made a mental note to find out what he'd also done that wasn't this. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"The mistletoe-and-Grebner speed trap in front of the supply area?" she prompted. Lori's office had a direct view of the space; all she had to do was pick her targets.  
  
The wariness faded, but the confusion remained. He gave her one of _those_ looks. "This sounds like something I would do?"  
  
"This sounds like something you _did_ do," Jen told him, ready to enjoy this. "What did you think Biro gave you to put up?"  
  
Yoni blinked. "Holly. A bough of holly? Fa-la-la?"  
  
"I am totally making you sit through Botany's field course," she sighed. "Major Lorne takes you off-world and you can't tell the difference between mistletoe and holly?"  
  
Yoni made an annoyed noise. "The marines go to Mass on Sundays; they're not going to eat either one. Those may be two of the only items I don't have to worry about them ingesting."  
  
"You still have to worry about its external applications," Jen assured. "That could have been you poking around for printer paper."  
  
The look of sheer terror she got back was fabulous.  
  
"Brush up on your botany," she told him. "Before Louise tells anyone that you helped her."  
  
Because after that, all bets were off -- Lori would definitely misuse the information and, being Nancy's friend, she knew she had some protection from the worst of Yoni's ire. Also, Lori knew that Yoni would probably make Fletcher's reaction seem _mature_.  
  
"And watch where you're walking," she added as she left. "I haven't actually banned the mistletoe from reappearing."


	4. The power of poop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cast of Characters/the Big List of OCs (because there are more than seven people in Atlantis and they all have names)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/372765)

  
One of the first things that Nancy had noticed on what would become semi-regular visits to Carson's lab was that he had a _toy shelf_. A single small shelf, attached to the wall in a manner that precluded anything heavy being placed on it, with a row of small figures and gadgets and silly things that seemed perfectly appropriate once you got to know the man. She took to asking about them, since they all seemed to have a tale attached and Carson was a fabulous storyteller.  
  
It was maybe appropriate that they got to the reindeer in early December. She was about to ask why he hadn't put it front and center -- they were all starting to get into the decorating spirit -- but then she got her answer when she heard the rattling and turned it around.  
  
"It shits jelly beans?!?"  
  
Carson gave her a mischievous smile. "Aye. And chocolate-covered raisins, too, if they're small. Chocolate-covered coffee beans give it constipation, sadly."  
  
It turned out that the reindeer was something Carson had acquired during his time working in Colorado Springs before moving down to Antarctica, an item he'd picked up in a Wal-Mart out of appreciation of the sheer ridiculousness of it. He'd packed it for Antarctica by accident, but once there he'd put it up in his lab because it had seemed appropriate there, too. It was also how he'd met Yoni, more or less, since Yoni had come in to borrow something and seen the reindeer.  
  
"Nobody'd heard him laugh like that, ever," Carson said a little proudly. "He bought me a sack of black jelly beans on his next trip up to Christchurch."  
  
And, from there, apparently, a friendship had been born.  
  
There was some disagreement about the reindeer's name -- Carson thought he should be Donner ("After the reindeer or after the cannibals?" Nancy asked warily) and Yoni had apparently decided to call it Shmuli -- but Yoni had always made sure the reindeer was fully loaded for Christmas. It had been easy enough in Antarctica and then in Colorado as they prepped for Atlantis, but it hadn't stopped once they were in another galaxy.  
  
"He gave me a box of Raisinets last year," Carson went on. "Lord knows how he'd kept them hidden -- or how he'd not eaten them himself. We were pretty well through all of those kinds of creature comforts by December."  
  
The reindeer stayed half-hidden on the shelf now, Carson explained, because he felt it was inappropriate for the CMO of a major installation to prominently display. "But that doesn't mean he won't come out when Yoni gets 'round to keeping him fed."  
  
Nancy'd meant to get around to checking back, but she never did.  
  
More than a year later, after Carson's death, while they'd all gone through the professional material, she was one of the few people Yoni would tolerate helping him box up Carson's personal effects. The toy shelf was already clear by the time she arrived with Mike, but the items were all in an open box on the counter.  
  
"McKay can look through it when he gets back," Yoni explained, not looking at her. Or either of them, but she'd more or less gotten used to that over the last week. "I'm sure a few of them mean something to him."  
  
The reindeer wasn't there, Nancy noticed, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she asked to have a crack at the box once McKay was finished, since she thought there was one or two that would make good reminders of Carson for her, too.  
  
The next time she was in Yoni's lab, she looked for the reindeer, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably in Yoni's quarters, or maybe here in a place where it was less obvious to see. Yoni was Acting CMO and even if he weren't the fanatically private type who'd hide anything that anyone could realize had sentimental value, he'd keep it out of direct sight for the same professional reasons Carson had now that more people were traipsing into his space on a regular basis.  
  
By the time Christmas rolled around again, however, Jen was fairly entrenched in her role and Yoni was pretty much back to normal (for him). But normal for him was still _Yoni_ , so Nancy had to fight the urge to do something like hug him when she saw the reindeer on the ledge where he put the 'tchotchkes' his nieces and nephews sent him along with the beautiful, delicate menorah the Athosians had made for him. Which meant that her planning had paid off.  
  
During his next off-world mission with Major Lorne's team, she slipped into his lab and left a small white paper sack full of black jelly beans on the lid of his closed laptop.


	5. Gingerbread engineering mechanics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cast of Characters/the Big List of OCs (because there are more than seven people in Atlantis and they all have names)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/372765)

  
  
John is in Lorne's office, debating whether his XO would notice if he started playing Minesweeper instead of working on the paperwork backlog, when a somewhat panicked Lieutenant Kagan appears in the doorway.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"What is it, Jamey?" Lorne asks warily, since while Kagan's on Logistics duty and there are thus more possible difficulties than others, _Daedalus_ just got into port and it really could be a wide variety of anything.  
  
"The Mountain screwed up the supply list again, sir," Kagan answers and John and Lorne exchange looks because the Mountain screws up the supply list almost every time and sometimes it means Atlantis has to do without something vitally important for an extra three to five months.  
  
"Is it one of those ha-ha screw-ups or something we have to send nasty notes to General Landry about?" John asks.  
  
"Both, sir?" Kagan makes a face. "They sent us two tons of gingerbread mix instead of flour."  
  
Lorne half-coughs to cover up a laugh. John totally doesn't bother.  
  
"Awesome," he sighs. Four thousand pounds of gingerbread mix and it's nowhere near Christmas. "So we've got to figure out who's got extra wheat to trade and hope they'll take gingerbread in return."  
  
Little Tripoli is in charge of commerce, for all intents and purposes. They'll have to tell Elizabeth, of course, but it'll be marines who are run out to look for flour substitutes and marines who'll have to make do in the kitchens until then. Which reminds him...  
  
"We should also start telling the marines on KP duty that there's a limit to how much gingerbread they can use per week," he adds, since they are all used to the way any new pantry item is wildly overused at first and John isn't sure he wants to experience gingerbread-coated fried chicken or gingerbread near-deer bourguignon or whatever else the marines can come up with because they sometimes don't remember that other people still have working taste buds. "Weapons Company's going to rotate through at least twice before we get resupplied."  
  
Everyone winces in understanding and dread.  
  
"For the time being, store it all together and out of the way," Lorne tells Kagan. "We'll figure out what to do with it as soon as we can."  
  
"Aye-aye, sir," Kagan replies and turns to go.  
  
"On your way back, please tell Captain Polito to be prepared to send marines out on food-finding runs," Lorne adds. "Feel free to explain why."  
  
"You have a sadistic streak," John tells Lorne once Kagan is gone. Kagan is their flakiest lieutenant and John is almost tempted to wander over to Charlie Company's offices and see how Kagan handles the task now that he knows his higher command is more amused than annoyed.  
  
"I have cranky emails from three different department heads bitching about Matt's delusions of self-importance, arbitrary decisions, and intractibility in the face of basic logic," Lorne replies mildly. "Let him be boggled for a few minutes."  
  
John sort of suspects that that last email might be from Rodney.  
  
It takes them the better part of two weeks to secure alternate sources of flour, which ends up being mostly wheat but also flax, amaranth, and some kind of nut meal. They send the requisite pissed-off emails to the SGC -- including the one demanding that someone google for any sort of guidelines for substituting one kind of flour for another, which then has to be modified again to allow for galactic varietal differences. They give a couple hundred pounds of gingerbread mix to their favorite allies (Ipetia, [Warrat](../../38049), New Athos) and try to trade as much of it as possible, but since they are at no point actually out of flour, it goes down as a crisis averted.  
  
On the next trip out, _Daedalus_ brings its regular shipment of flour but leaves behind the canned fruit, M240 ammo belts, and some of the cleaning solutions, the last of which leads to Chemistry accidentally blowing up a toilet with their home-made alternative.  
  


* * *

  
  
"When was the last time you were in D-6, Major?" John asks as he walks briskly -- not running -- into Lorne's office.  
  
"Sir?" Lorne cocks an eyebrow, clearly confused.  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
Lorne, simultaneously trying to process whether John's actually pissed at him for something and actually answer the question, pauses. "I can't say with certainty, sir," he finally replies. "It can't have been recently."  
  
D-6 is one of those sections of the city that is not permanently occupied; it has somehow survived all of the surprises Atlantis has been thrown (sieges, transplanetary flight, bombs, etc.) but nobody has offices out there and the marines don't use it as a regular training area. It's not unoccupied, but it's hardly busy. Lorne would have no reason to be out there, just as John had no reason to be out there... until he saw what he did on his way back from the mainland this morning.  
  
"Well, let's go, then," John exhorts. "Did you eat lunch?"  
  
"Sir?" Lorne is now thoroughly befuddled and John has a hard time hiding his pride in flapping his unflappable deputy.  
  
"It's all relevant, Major," John assures, turning to lead the way to the transporter. Lorne jogs to catch up.  
  
John hits the map for D-6 and the transporter lets them out inside a building lobby. John walks purposefully toward the door to the outside and then stops.  
  
"Jesus fucking Christ," Lorne says as he appears at John's side, stopping short and staring. "I... really?"  
  
"They're crazy, inspired, and clearly have too much time on their hands," John says as he gazes upon what their marines have gotten up to this time. "I should have known that there was a reason why they've all been on their best behavior recently. They've been too busy to get into trouble."  
  
Lorne is still gawping, running his hand over his face like the scene will change if he just wakes up. Which, admittedly, is close to what John's reaction had been when he'd come by earlier to investigate what he'd seen from above, since what he'd seen from above looked an awful lot like a gingerbread village. Which it is.  
  
"I guess we know where a ton and a half of gingerbread mix went," Lorne finally says. "I'd say I'm relieved to be rid of it, but..."  
  
"Yeah," John agrees. "I wonder what they used for the icing."  
  
The village is just that -- at least six life-sized gingerbread cottages, complete with roofs and decorative touches (gumdrops, cookies, the usual riotous assortment of non-edible holiday decorations that swallow Little Tripoli whole between Thanksgiving and New Year's) and brick-bordered gardens (that seem to be growing candy canes). There's a village well, a church with what might be a chocolate bell in its steeple, and a building with a sign that says "general store" on it. And a tavern, since this place was built by marines.  
  
It's all covered in clear plastic tarpaulins, although it's far-enough inland that they don't have to worry about humidity from the ocean.  
  
"Surprise, sirs?"  
  
John turns around to see Radner and wonders why the captains think that he and Lorne don't notice that they always send Dave when they're hoping to talk their way out of trouble.  
  
(Answer: because Matt is usually the source of the trouble, Mike has a total inability to fake repentance, and Dave is the best talker. Also, they're marines and not very bright.)  
  
"Yes, surprise would about cover it," John agrees mildly. "Were you planning on telling us at any point?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Dave assures. "We were -- are? -- going to open it to the city next week. We're still finishing up some of the last-minute details."  
  
"Such as?" Lorne prompts.  
  
"Costumes, chocolate for the well, wrapping presents, more decorations..." Radner trails off. "It's all festive and tasteful, sirs."  
  
Lorne snorts.  
  
"For USMC values of festive and tasteful, Captain?" John asks.  
  
"Elves and Santa Claus, sir," Dave answers. "We're aiming for PG-rated in case we can bring in the Athosian kids."  
  
"What about the taproom?" Lorne challenges.  
  
"Root beer, sir."  
  
John knows he's going to give in, knows he's going to get Elizabeth to go along with it, but he's not ready to give that up yet.  
  
"You do realize that this is yet another battalion-wide mutiny, right?" he asks instead. "Don't tell me that you were going to ask permission. You were going to seek forgiveness and present us with a fait accompli."  
  
"We meant it in the best way, sir," Dave offers. "There was no disrespect intended."  
  
"But enough to not actually ask first." John frowns because otherwise he'll start smiling.  
  
"No excuse, sir."  
  
John lets Dave off the hook by sending him off to tell the other captains that they've been busted.  
  
"Five gets you ten that the gate room officers have had standing orders to call one of the captains the minute someone appeared on the life signs detector here," Lorne says when it's just the two of them again. "And to call Dave if it's us."  
  
"That's a sucker's bet," John answers, although he hadn't actually thought of that before now. But it explains why Dave got here so quickly after they did.  
  
The Christmas village is, as expected, the highlight of the Atlantis holiday season. The lieutenants make properly ridiculous elves, the first sergeants are surprisingly jolly Santas (in shifts, since there are probably some marines who still believe and wouldn't be able to handle more than one simultaneously), and marines in silly hats hand out dolls and toys and candy to the Athosian and Ipetian children. There is caroling, which Teyla joins in on, and cookie-eating contests, which Ronon takes part in. And hot chocolate, which John regularly samples to make sure the marines aren't spiking it.  
  
Christmas morning, John is not very surprised to find almost all of Atlantis in the village, more than a few opening their presents. It's absolutely nothing like Earth, but remarkably everything like home.


	6. Santa Tracker

It was perhaps to be expected, considering that the SGC shared a mountain with NORAD, that the first Christmas in Atlantis would feature the sensors ‘tracking Santa’ throughout the Pegasus galaxy.  
  
The concept was brilliant, especially because the homesickness that had first become tangible around Thanksgiving was now much more palpable. Also because it was something the expedition members could share with the Athosians, who’d been hearing about Christmas for a month but couldn’t quite get their heads around what pretending a fat man bearing gifts on a flying sled making intergalactic deliveries had to do with honoring the birth of the son of one of their gods. (They still didn’t quite get it, but they didn’t get a lot of what the Earth people did, although they were willing to roll with it just the same because it involved cookies and singing.)  
  
The execution, however, at least in the first year, left a little bit to be desired because at least four people had public panic attacks because they thought the dots on the sensors meant approaching Wraith warships. For the second year and every year thereafter, email messages, noticeboard messages, and a giant sign over the screens in the Control Room were put up to keep that from happening again. (But there was always at least one who never got the memo. Always.)  
  
Engineering was entirely responsible for the event, a project that, like the Christmas lights experiment, was approved by Zelenka on the premise that it would be better to seek forgiveness from McKay than permission. Also like the Christmas lights experiment, McKay put up a great show of being annoyed by the squandering of resources but was secretly quite delighted. And everyone in Engineering knew it, although they also knew better than to say anything.  
  
(They also knew better than to say who’d found the little red Ancient bauble that became Robotic Rudolph’s nose. It lit up every time anyone with the ATA gene walked by, glowing brightest when Sheppard was near. Sheppard, in turn, would snarl at it on every pass.)  
  
By the third year in Pegasus, the Santa-tracking bore a striking resemblance to its Earth equivalent, right down to the website and the recorded messages by personnel. Planets chosen for stops by Santa included allies like the Ipetians (and eventually New Athos) and, occasionally, the less-than-allies. The script for the Genii always involved at least one reference to Santa running for his life after delivering coal to all of the naughty girls and boys.  
  
(It wasn’t until the fourth Christmas in Atlantis that anyone but Engineering and Comp Sci realized that Doctor Weir had chosen the planets and written the scripts. Up until that point, the entire city had kept track of the planetary list to see who the anonymous author disliked more – Lorne or Sheppard – depending on who had more of their embarrassing exploits included.)  
  
After the bridge to Earth was built, the scripts from Earth were included as well, a gift from the folks at NORAD to the Deep Space Telemetry Group downstairs on the presumption that it would be beamed into space along with Beatles songs and everything else they were sending the aliens. (For the record, most of the Goa’uld like the Stones better.) Engineering spliced the Earth feed into the Pegasus one, re-adjusting the times to allow for the local deliveries, and sending him back to Earth through a wormhole. General Landry earned the affection of most of Atlantis, at least for an evening, for his guest appearance bitching about Blitzen shitting in the SGC gate room.


	7. Boys and their toys

  
“What do you think?” John asked the marine captains.  
  
“I think they’re going to think that you’re the coolest CO ever, sir,” Radner answered wryly.  
  
John grinned. “At least until the next time Science asks for something and I have to give it to them,” he replied. “But how are we on the surprise factor? Do they think anything’s up?”  
  
It had been a difficult maneuver, one requiring the senior command – including the captains and the company first sergeants – to disguise not only the matter, but also the means and for an extended duration. Telling the marines that they were bringing dry goods back to Atlantis was all well and good, but then they also had to keep the marines from deciding to use any of it for any reason without making anyone suspicious enough to check out exactly what was in those crates that they weren’t supposed to touch.  
  
Hanzis shrugged. “It’s a battalion formation on Christmas afternoon, sir,” he pointed out. “Of course they think something is up and they’re pretty sure it’s not because they’re in trouble. But they don’t think it’s got anything to do with the crates.”  
  
“Should they be in trouble?” Lorne asked. “Just for the record?”  
  
The captains laughed.  
  
“Nobody likes a rat, sir,” Polito said, still smiling.  
  
“Couldn’t you just lie and say ‘no’?” Lorne sighed. “Never mind, I’m sure I’ll find out at some future inconvenient time. Now about getting set up, where are we on that?”  
  
“We’re good to go, sir,” Radner assured. Dave, still the officer with the best knowledge of the city’s geography, had been in charge of logistics. “We’re going to move everything through the transporter at 0030 Christmas Day, since nobody’ll be around to look then. I’ve scouted out the nearest transporter location that’s not in regular use and we’ll use a combination of trolleys and MALPs to get it the rest of the way Christmas morning during the height of the Gingerbread Village entertainments. The set-up itself should take ten minutes, tops.”  
  
John nodded. “Do I need to make anyone disappear on the Blue Force Tracker?”  
  
The life signs detector, if it was working in that section of the city, would show that there were six people in a part of Atlantis they shouldn’t be, at least until they got out to the pier. He’d be gate room officer, so it would be his call to ignore the violation and there wouldn’t be any arguing, but the marines on duty would get suspicious. And with most of the marines able to count to six without using both hands and, combined with the speed of gossip in Little Tripoli, the entire battalion would know something was up by the time of the big reveal.  
  
“If you could, that would help, sir,” Dave replied, not even blinking at the assumption that John would do this through his ATA connection to the city and not through the laptop the gate room officers used while on duty. “I sent a patrol through there last month to test out the BFT and the area by the transporter exit itself is offline, but the path from there to the pier is a flicker spot. I think Engineering’s tagged it for repair, but they haven’t gotten to it yet. Either way, we’ll need some coverage.”  
  
“Okay,” John agreed. Atlantis didn’t usually mind when he asked her to hide people. She’d do it for him without hesitation, sometimes without him even asking, but he’d experimented with asking her to do so for others ever since the Genii assault. He never wanted to have their own defenses used against them the way Radim and Sora had used the BFT against him.”Give me a squawk on the radio when you’re in position.”  
  
“Wilco.”  
  
Christmas Eve in Atlantis was its usual festive self, growing more riotous the closer one got to Little Tripoli. The corpsmen ran around with their Yule log terrorizing the scientists, the caroling in the north park was timed to overlap with the forecast meteor shower (the latter of which provided plausible cover for Rodney to attend the former, although he still insisted upon lying badly about it), and John had the surreal experience of helping answer the question of how fat Santa could be and still safely drive a jumper because the lieutenants flying out to Ipetia and New Athos in their “sleds” and with their “elves” had not erred on the side of caution.  
  
He went to bed early, though, because if the one gift he gave to Lorne was the privilege of not having to set the alarm on Christmas, showing up late to relieve him would undo most of that beneficence. He woke up to an email message from Hanzis assuring that the first phase of moving the crates had gone off without a hitch, showered, and then went down to the gate room. Lorne, wearing a Santa hat that wiggled back and forth and sang “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas” when a button on the side was pushed, greeted him with the news that Social Sciences had provided both wassail and eggnog, neither with enough alcoholic content to bother monitoring consumption.  
  
“At least that’s what we’ve got here,” he said, gesturing to the urns on the table set up on the concourse. It was laden down by treats that could only be considered breakfast food on Christmas morning. “I can’t make any promises for what they’re sending over to the Gingerbread Village or serving up in the commissary, so we might get someone to do random checks there.”  
  
John promised to do so, wished Lorne a good rest and a Merry Christmas, and proceeded to look around for something, anything to disable Robotic Rudolph because, like he did every year, he forgot to bring a pillowcase and he knew Rodney had fixed the nose in such a way that simply trying to turn it off by gene power wouldn’t work. (Rodney assured him that he’d done nothing of the sort, that it was probably made with the same technology that was used in Wraith tracking devices, and John should just deal with it.)  
  
At the pre-arranged signal, John politely ‘asked’ Atlantis to lose everyone in E-12. She complied with such speed that he wondered if she somehow understood what was up.  
  
All of the marines were present and accounted for at battalion formation at 1500, an event for which John had temporarily absented himself from the gate room (leaving Osgeny, the platoon commander of the QRF team, in his place). Also present were Teyla and Ronon, both of whom were decidedly curious (and, in Ronon’s case, decidedly placid and well-fed), and Yoni, whose curiosity was probably closer to outright suspicion because he had no idea why Lorne had told him to show up, had apparently not paid attention to the gossip on either his own team or among the corpsmen and orderlies that this was going to be a fun activity, and stood off to the side with his white coat still on because he had taken the Christmas clinic shift (not knowing that Lorne had arranged with Keller for him to be spelled during it) and distrusted the interruption.  
  
John let the captains run the show, since not only had they done all of the legwork, but they were also responsible for the acquisition in the first place. Also, marine logic would probably be best to explain how Polito had gone to Thanera to talk to the locals about using their planet for a training exercise and come away with two hundred crossbows and a commensurate number of bolts for a couple of training sessions.  
  
The SGC had put his marines far from home on the most family-oriented holiday on the calendar, so letting them loose with new weaponry seemed about as much as John could do to soften the blow. Especially since the second rail gun test of the year was always set for New Year’s Eve.  
  
Polito warned the boys that the crossbows were to be treated like every other weapon in the armory and anyone caught aiming one at anyone would face disciplinary punishment, Christmas or not, and then let them form up for turns at the targets set up at the far end of the pier. Teyla, Ronon, and Yoni – who shed his coat once Lorne explained that he was covered for the infirmary – queued up on the shortest line (the platoon with the most marines on leave home for the holidays). John was given a spot up front to try his luck first before returning to the gate room. He missed the target entirely the first time, winged it the second and third, and did respectably on the remaining shots. The marines enjoyed his marksmanship (or lack thereof) until they, too, started missing targets because these were not slick modern crossbows, however finely they were made, and there was a learning curve.  
  
The marines back in the gate room knew what was up by the time he returned and he assured them that there would be bolts and targets left over for them once they were relieved.  
  
All in all, it was a good present well-received. Although not well-received enough that anyone was willing to take his hint and stage a raid on Engineering to capture-and-kill Robotic Rudolph.


End file.
